Free Write

Justice takes strange forms.  Generally it is understood by religious peoples that vengeance and retribution belong to God; that those who conduct lives of wickedness while on earth will be punished in the hereafter if not while they are yet alive.  Or for those that are truly vile, I speak here of those cretins that talk loudly or use cell phones while in the movies, perhaps they will be punished both on earth and in the life to come. 

It is frustrating when we feel we have been wronged by a person knowing they might not get their comeuppance until after they have passed on.  Occasionally, however, someone who has mistreated us is punished while we are around to enjoy it.  No, we should not enjoy seeing another punished but it does feel nice to gloat until the guilt hits. 

While working at her retail job my wife was recently screamed at by a small woman with an irritatingly high-pitched voice.  She wanted to buy a living room set on her husband’s account and didn’t understand that without her husband present to authorize the transaction legally the company could not push through the order.  The woman, finally fed up by being told ‘no,’ made a disparaging comment directed at my wife then stormed out. 

A few weeks passed then I got a call from my wife while she was at work.  Apparently the woman above had been arrested for fraudulently using her EX-husband’s account, a fact she neglected to share with the sales associates at the time she was trying to use it to buy her furniture.  Now one of the women from work has to appear in court to testify against the woman who was illegally using her husband’s account.  

My wife has commenced gloating and due to her lack of a soul will probably not stop.  I, on the other hand, must wait until the hereafter.

Free Write

I live in a constant state of terror.  My life is constantly threatened and I am only safe at school, where I am too ashamed to speak out about the abuse I receive at home.  My wife, having both Irish and Scottish ancestors, has a temper of legendary proportions.  She has deep red hair that seems to ignite with an internal flame as her anger rises and spills out into the physical world in the form of verbal and non-verbal cruelty directed at me. 

 

Recently, for seemingly no reason at all, she informed me I was a “doody mahoodie.”  I responded with, “Oh yeah.  Well, you’re a doody mahoodie with a dirty patootie.”  Her reply, which I was quite impressed with, was “Well, you’re a doody mahoodie with a dirty patootie and a pony named Judy!”

 

Not wanting to be outdone I shouted “Well, you’re just a mean old woman!”  The onslaught I faced was unlike any my imagination could conjure.  Such a torrent of slapping accompanied by girlish wailing the world has never seen.  I tried to hide myself under a layer of pillows and blankets yet foolishly left one of my feet exposed.  She grabbed my foot and pulled me crying from under my protective layer and slapped every inch of exposed skin until a pink glow filled the room.

 

I was left lying on the bed, my skin too raw to move, sobbing quietly until sleep overtook me.  The next day at school, when my classmates asked me where my bruised and sunburned look came from I thought of my wife and hurriedly responded, “I fell down the stairs.”  It’s just safer that way. 

Free Write

College has been a trying experience for me on many fronts.  One in particular that distresses me is my personal health.  When I started my formal schooling in the winter of 2004, yes it’s 2008 and I’m nowhere near to being done, I was a svelte 6’3, 210 pounds.  Now, four years later, I’m still 6’3 but have put on about 140 pounds.  How is such a feat possible?  Simple, I have no time to cook or exercise and so eat the majority of my meals from fast food restaurants.

 

What most interests me about the various fried food dispensing chains is not the food but those who work there and keep the place running.  Typically McDonald’s is worked entirely by Mexicans with a white manager.  Wendy’s is almost always all Mexican staffed while Del Taco keeps a better mix of ethnicities.  Only stoned college and high school kids work at Sonic so I don’t go there.

 

As most, if not all, fast food consumers are white people looking to avoid the work of preparing a meal themselves at times the clashing of cultures leads to difficulties and hilarity surrounding an order.  After a long night my wife and I went to Wendy’s and obtained our order with no difficulties until I asked for salt.  Observe:

 

“May I have some salt,” I ask, loudly as I’m sitting in the passenger’s seat.

 

The drive-thru clerk looks at me, tilts her head to the side like a cat might do and does nothing.

 

“May I have some salt, please?”  I figured she might be waiting for the magic word.

 

“Sal…Wha…?”   She continues to stare at me.

 

“May I have some salt!” Now my ire is up and I don’t understand why this person refuses to hand me a package of salt.

 

“Sal…tuh?”  She then shakes her head and walks over to the manager who comes to the window.

 

“What can I get you?”  the manager asks.

 

“Salt.” I reply curtly.

 

“Salt?  Oh yeah we have salt.”  Then she too stares at me, doing nothing.

 

“Can I have some?” I shout.  My wife by this time is shaking with a fit of giggles, trying not to laugh at my difficulty in obtaining a simple table seasoning.

 

She looks startled, grabs enough salt packets to re-salinate the Great Salt Lake and thrusts them into my car.

 

We drive off and I vow to never again come to Wendy’s at 9:45 p.m. on a Wednesday evening.  All other times are free game though.

Free Write

There are very few people who can say they have accidentally altered their body in a permanent way. Other than a distant relative living in Canada who has only one eye my friends and acquaintances remain wholly intact. I, however, am among those few who have accidentally altered their body in a more or less permanent fashion. Do not mistake this declaration for boasting as, more often than not, those permanently disfigured have become so by idiocy.

When I was six years old, living in Euless, Texas, with my family and new baby brother, I had an adventurous group of friends. We explored the woods not far from my home, without first disclosing our location to our parents, could often be found jumping from the second bunk of a bunk bed onto bean bags below, and to this day, though I do not remember why, are banned from a certain Wal-Mart in the Dallas, Texas region.

It should come as no surprise then that one afternoon, with not much to do; we decided we would join the circus, each specializing in a certain talent we wanted to learn. My friend Casey wanted to be a trapeze artist, his younger brother Ricky wanted to train lions, and I wanted to walk the tightrope. As we did not have lions or a high pole from which to rig up a trapeze swing but did have rope we could string across a three foot section of tall fencing, it was only natural that I develop my skill first.

I decided my tightrope walking act would be revolutionary so, after Ricky and Casey strung the rope across the fence, holding it tight, I instructed the fourth member of our group, Josh, to begin hitting the rope with a plastic bat. I climbed the fence, a good six feet tall, took one step and fell headfirst onto the fence latch which for some reason, in Texas, was on the ground.

I now have a dimple under my left eye that can be seen when I smile or scrunch up my face and had not been present before my foray into the circus world. Needless to say my friends scattered like the rodents they were, my parents were merely relieved I was able to keep my eye, and now a picture of the vicious swelling and bruising of my face hangs in the entryway to my parent's home. My mother tells anyone who will listen it is, to date, her favorite picture of her oldest son.

Free Write

I would like to warn all slightly pudgy or fat men and women currently involved in an ongoing relationship, be it marriage or social dating, of a great danger filtering into their homes by way of television. This danger is present only once per week, specifically Tuesday evenings on NBC. Yes, I am speaking of “The Biggest Loser.”

I will be the first to acknowledge I am a little more than pleasantly plump, in fact I believe I crossed the line into obstinately obese not long ago, yet I am working on it. My methods are slow and often frustrating as I indulge in culinary pleasure far more often than is healthy. My wife also acknowledges that she could stand to eat healthier and exercise as well. Yet this recognition blossoms into full-fledged mania when “The Biggest Loser” is on.

Inspired by those far larger than she my wife has taken to weekly emptying our cupboards of anything even remotely fattening or, as I would phrase it, delicious.

“We are going on a diet!” She yells, empowered by seeing those who have lost so much weight in only three months. “No more soda, no more candy, no more anything!”

The next day she invariably works early, my first class is not until 11:00 a.m. so I have the chance to sleep in. Awaking at 10:00 a.m. I scrounge for breakfast yet find none. My cereal, the peanut butter, the jelly, even the butter is gone, making my options little more than dry toast. All good food in our apartment is now in the dumpster outside, the victim of my wife’s purge.

It wouldn’t be so bad if later that same day I hadn’t received this message on my phone: “Hey, sorry, but I was really hungry so I went to Arby’s with a friend for lunch. I love you and I’ll see you tonight.”

Listening to the above three times my stomach gurgles in righteous indignation as I sit down to a healthy lunch of toasted bread and water, imaging sweet revenge in the form of the spicy bean curd I’ll be serving her for dinner that night.

Free Write

It should come to no surprise to those that know me, or are forced to endure my presence, that I have a volume control issue with my voice.  I can often be heard shouting things that in a normal conversation would not even give occasion to raise one’s voice.  For example, a friend and I were at a Subway restaurant, about to get a sandwich before seeing a movie.  We placed our orders at about the same time and when it came time to pay the sales clerk asked, “Are you together or separate?”

 

I shouted in reply “UH, SEPARATE!”  The sales clerk stepped back, not accustomed to having otherwise normal responses bellowed at her.  My friend started laughing uncontrollably and I turned a deeper shade of violet than my usual flushed mauve. 

 

Another time the same friend and I were at Barnes and Noble.  Again, it came time to make our purchases and an innocent sales clerk asked, “Do you have a savings card?”  Not thinking anything of it I replied, “No, I don’t.”  It wasn’t until the sales clerk’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates and my friend began laughing that I realized I had, again, shouted what should have been a spoken reply. 

 

I have taken to trying to listen to my own voice as I speak not due to any self-absorption but to spare myself any future embarrassment.  I am already 6”3, weigh over 300 pounds, and have the reddest face out of almost anyone you’ve ever seen.  Unfortunately I usually only realize what has happened after the fact. 

 

Such was the case the other day when, as my wife dropped me off for a class, I told her, jokingly, “Only a complete sucker would donate blood.”  She turned red and turned to look out of the windshield, directly in front of us was a group of students unloading a Red Cross truck, setting up for a blood drive on campus.  From their shocked looks it was apparent I had, again, shouted something inappropriate.

 

I did the only thing one can do when something as embarrassing as this happens, turned a deeper hue of scarlet, ducked my head, and hurried on my way as quickly as I could while my wife laughed and left me to my fate.

Free Write

All twelve-step programs begin with an admission; one must recognize and confess that they no longer have control over an addiction or compulsion. I confess I feel compelled to kill. You may feel comforted to know my victims are not good people; they are men and women whose very presence fouls the earth upon which they trod. These are not ordinary people but diabolical fiends who must be punished. The first of those to fall beneath me was JamonDuke3.

I remember it well.

On the freezing fields of Snowbound I first set eyes upon my foe, JamonDuke3. I bore down upon him, my automatic rifle firing unceasingly, hurling grenades until he was weak enough for me to deliver the death blow with my own hands. His lifeless form flew through the air as though a sack of flour had been hurled into open space. It was there the addiction formed and my compulsion grew. What's more, there have been others.

girlymanErwin, streetpanther0779, and LordChubbuck soon joined JamonDuke3 in the fiery depths reserved for those who dare oppose me. I am strengthened occasionally by a friend, Chinook Imlah, in my endeavor to rid the world of these loathsome beings and together we rain explosive justice down upon our enemies. Though at times our opponents seem to gain the upper hand, more often than not we are victorious.

The next step in my program is to acknowledge a greater power that can give me strength in my quest to overcome my addiction or compulsion. Though not difficult to acknowledge a greater power it is another matter altogether to willfully allow said power to stop me from delivering swift death to my enemies. I am ashamed to admit that the glory of battle calls to me every time I enter my living room and all too often I give in to my compulsion in order to feed my addiction.

My wife is a great deterrent to my addiction as when she finds me engaged in my noble quest she often complains until I lay down my weapon of destruction and take part in altogether more wholesome activities. Will I ever be able to go a single day without once trying to punish those who rise up against me? I do not know. I can only say at present the number of those felled by my hand are many and every time I seek to beat down one of my adversaries another rises in his stead. Tomorrow I shall seek out bebotheace and if after his demise no one opposes me I may be content to give up my addiction. I will just have to wait until then.